"Angels With Two Faces", Chapter Eight
Title: Angels With Two Faces
Chapter: 8/??
Fandom: Arashi
Character, Pairing(s): eff it, it's Nino/Jun
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: Violence, language, and seeeeexual situations. ;)
Summary: "I'm Kazu Ninomiya. I'm 26 years old, and I'm here to catch a murderer. Let me tell you about Los Angeles."
Note: This is your last chapter before our Japan hiatus! <3 So enjoy, and we'll see you awesome peeps when we get back.
How many days have I been here? I’m starting to wonder if my landlord in DC thinks I’m ever coming back, although the money I’m wiring back east disappears from my account like clockwork.
Oguri’s more pissed off than upset when Aiba and I drop in to tell him about Akanishi. “You know how hard it is to find a headliner in this town?”
“Not too difficult,” Aiba replies. “Always people looking for work.”
And Oguri just downs his drink with a shake of his head. “I don’t mean some girl who was a prostitute last week and a singer this week. A real headliner.”
That’s the only thing he has to say.
We leave him to drink away his pending financial losses. Five bodies, and Sakurai better show his face soon. Aiba drops me at the hotel in the mid-afternoon. The hotel bar’s out of scotch, and I run up a nice tab on some gin. Whole place is cleared out when I make my way to the keys.
Should have told Jun this morning. Should have told him before Jin Akanishi got his heart torn out.
Do I care too much about that pretty-faced asshole to turn his world upside down?
--
Tema. Poco Allegro. Diabelli's Theme Variation 2.
He was taking it way too fast, accenting all the wrong notes; his hands were flying over the ivory and turning the staccato notes into triplets, rushed and hurried together until the individual notes weren't even audible anymore. He almost cracked his wrist on the side just trying to get his hands across the keyboard fast enough to shift the key. Mrs. Phillips would have been pounding on his shoulder, shouting at him to stop, stop, can't you feel the music? Can't you feel that it wants to dance, not run?
But he wasn't thinking about Beethoven or the sheets of music he could see in his mind's eye just like they were perched on the sheet holder above the keys. Five missing hearts, five murders all connected in a way he couldn't see. The spider spinning the web was a black widow, growing stronger on the blood and energy of the victims, and he was powerless to stop the web from growing and spinning around him.
The notes were supposed to be delicate. He knew the way they were supposed to pluck out through the strings and reverberate through the piano body and he didn't care; he played the entire piece in forte, ramping the sforzandos as he pleased.
Stop that, stop that, the music is hushed- tense. The atmosphere is smoky, not deafening.
But it was deafening, like his own thoughts. The case and North Hollywood and Lieutenant Sakurai's shaky-at-best motives were swirling around like a damn windstorm. It was all deafening, and the killer was pulling all of the strings, increasing the volume. Nino's hands slid across the ivory, slipping off one of the black keys for a jarring disharmonious cord. It sounded better that way anyway- closer to mirroring his thoughts.
The door to the hotel lobby slammed.
"Ninomiya," came the voice, loud and angry and- a touch of something else coloring it. Nino let his hands fall free from the keys, abruptly stopping halfway through the theme. Maybe Beethoven was glad, somewhere, that the piece was no longer being butchered for the sake of Nino's own furious guesswork.
Jun strode up with purposeful steps and Nino spun his legs around on the bench. He didn't need this- his head was cloudy enough as it was. But he wasn't expecting an envelope to get shoved in his face. It was manila, barely bent. He reached for it and frowned when he pulled out the single sheet of paper stuck inside.
"You should know better than to ignore my warning," Nino read. The letters were concise, clearly formed; round and simple and telling him absolutely nothing, not even how old the writer was by the slant of the scrawl. "If you insist on continuing your chase, I will use what leverage I have in front of me to do so."
As he looked up at Jun, something slid out of the envelope onto the floor- another item within the package. With trembling hands, Nino reached for it. He didn't want to see; he knew, somehow, inside, what it was going to be. Maybe he'd known since that night, maybe he'd only guessed that it would be the next thing used. At night he could convince himself that it was one of the reasons he was fighting so hard to suppress the shivers of his spine and the quickening of his breathing when Matsumoto was near him.
A photograph. It was almost still warm from the developing liquids.
"What is this?" Jun demanded, all bristle and indignation as Nino stared at the picture between his fingertips. They were so close- one of Jun's hands was around Nino's wrist and his other fingers were pressed against Nino's back. And whoever had taken the photo, they had been close to, close enough to get the definition to Jun's eyelashes, half-lidded and hazy. "What warning?"
He should have known they would involve Jun. Dammit, he'd tried not to get entangled at all. "Someone's been- trying to get me off the case."
"What are you talking about?"
Nino slipped the photograph back into the envelope carefully, along with the letter- they could dust it for prints, maybe, but he knew they wouldn't find anything. Five murders in- wasn't likely that the killer was going to do something so stupid. Not this late in the game.
"The accident? The other day," he said, slowly, drawing every word out. "Someone cut my brake lines. Want me off the case."
"What?" Jun asked. There was a pause; Nino could almost hear the other man's brain working. "Why you? Why do they want you off the case? Why wasn't any of this centered around me?"
Nino flexed his fingers a few time, one knuckle after the other. His wrist was sore from where he'd banged it against the side in his haste to get through the notes of the song. And even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't keep it any longer- not with Jun standing in front of him in the middle of a stare down, like a god damned western, tumbleweeds scattering in the wind.
"I think," he began, taking a deep breath, "it's because of... what I know."
He didn't look up. "I think it's Sho."
For a very long time, he got no response. And when he finally lifted his gaze, Jun was just staring at him, with a look that Nino couldn't even hope to read. It just spurned him on to fill the silence, the void, like somehow explaining it would make it better- make the reality of the situation go away. "I've been tailing Sho for... awhile. I think he's connected to all of them. He's been gone, conveniently gone, or missing. I saw him- I saw him at Erika's grave. I think he's the killer, and I've been following him, and he knows. Someone knows."
Jun still didn't say anything; it was maddening. Nino gave a nervous trill of laughter, clenching and unclenching his left hand.
"Say something," he said.
It took another couple of seconds- long, stretched seconds- before the other man spoke. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
"No."
And then everything shifted and he hadn't seen it coming. Jun was shouting and moving towards him with barely restrained rage, fist trembling visibly. "You think it was Sho? You think it was a police officer? Are you fucking out of your mind?"
Nino pushed back against the edge of the piano keys, wood digging into his spine. "No, I-"
"You think it was the man who wants more than anyone to solve this investigation?" Jun cried, enraged, lunging closer with his finger in Nino's face, like a warning sign. "He's been my superior officer for years, he's stuck his neck out for me, and you suspect him of murder?"
"Jun," Nino tried.
"Why not me?" Jun asked, and suddenly he was very close, so close that Nino could feel his breath hot against his ear. Nino's shoulders hit the music shelf- he was arched over the damn keys, pinned, and Matsumoto was furious, sparking. "Why don't you think it was me then?"
Nino couldn't breathe. Jun's hands were suddenly around his wrists, slamming his arms back onto the keys- the chords rang out, a jumbled mess of tone and sound. And he was close, so close, pressing in against Nino's form and everything was white-hot and pitch black all at the same time.
"Don't you think I could do it?" Jun seethed. His voice had dropped to a hiss- a whisper. It was sending a flood of crazed sensations down Nino's spine. "Don't you think I could slip a knife between your ribs and cut your heart out? Watch you bleed out dry on the sidewalk, or on this very piano?"
He couldn't tell if his trained instincts were screaming at him to get free or if his body was praying for Jun's hold to keep.
"You were with me," he choked out, and it came out garbled, because Jun's weight was pressed against him, and their hips ground together, and every single one of his nerves was alight, fiery and shrieking. "You were with me every time-"
And then he couldn't bite back the groan that fell from his throat, because Jun moved, rocking their hips together again.
"So you suspect Sho, then?" Jun demanded. "That's it?"
"The handcuffs," Nino said, and everything was moving painfully slow and deliriously quick all at once. "They're police-issued. The last one was on our lawn, Jun-"
"So he did it? He's guilty because the evidence points to the station?"
Everything was spinning. His wrists were sore and stiff beneath Jun's palms. "No, it's-"
And then all of a sudden, Jun's mouth was on his, cutting him off. Jun's tongue swept in even as Nino groaned and stole the noise away. Nino's hands were free and there were fingers on his hips, pushing him up on the keys until they sounded again, angry and dissonant and all-encompassing, wrapping around him like a damn cocoon. He couldn't tell if Jun was trying to rough him up or knock him senseless; both were working. He would have angry bruises on his hips tomorrow from the way Jun's hands were grasping at them, even though the fabric.
"Jun," he managed to gasp, when Jun's mouth wrenched away from his own and found its way down his jaw. His back hit the stand harder, hard enough to knock the wind from him a bit, and he couldn't find his bearing.
"You think he did it?" Jun asked, half-muffled against Nino's neck. He was grinding up against Nino's hips, arousal hard against Nino's thigh- Christ, everything was muddled and swirling and nothing made any sense anymore. "You think it was Sho?"
Was Jun going to fuck him or continue to interrogate him? They were in the middle of the god damned hotel lobby, and Nino's weight hit the keys again, sending another mass of mis-matched tones through the room.
"Yes," Nino hissed. He grabbed for Jun's hair- if he was going to have angry welts, then Jun was as well. But one yank on the strands and Jun's weight and heat against him were gone, stepped back, and he was left aching on top of the piano keys.
Jun shook his head, looking murderous and mussed, lips swollen. "Fuck you."
Nino just laughed, decidedly mirthless. "Maybe."
Jun whirled and left, taking his cologne and his lithe fingers with him, and it took a very long time for Nino to steady his breathing again, at least enough to extradite himself from on top of the piano.
If anyone had been in the lobby, they should have chipped some bills in for the damn show.
--
He woke up in his own bed in the hotel, so he’d managed to get back at some point after Jun had left. His entire body ached - not all of it from how rough Matsumoto had been with him. There was a different sort of ache settling itself in his head. He didn’t think telling Jun about his suspicions would hurt this badly.
His clothes were rumpled, not having bothered to undress before collapsing on his mattress the night before. His mouth felt dry as cotton and disgusting. He was already forgetting what Jun had tasted like as he’d been pushed to his absolute limit. The shower spray was freezing. All the better to wash away the heat he’d felt from Jun’s closeness.
The phone rang, and he nearly stumbled over his shoes to answer it. “Morning.”
“It’s already 3:00 in the afternoon.”
He glanced at the clock on the wall. So it was. “What do you want, Masaki?”
Aiba’s voice was hushed. “Can you get over to St. Vincent’s Hospital?”
Hospital? His mind immediately worked into a frenzy. Had the killer struck again - leaving the victim alive? Or Jun - he’d been so furious the night before. What if he’d wrapped his car around a telephone pole…
“I…why?”
“It’s Nakai. Masahiro Nakai from the radio. He’s been stabbed.”
“By the killer?”
Aiba chuckled. “No. I mean, no, we don’t think so. This seems like a crime of passion, if you will.” Nino didn’t see why a man getting stabbed was that funny on principle, but the thought of that self-righteous radio son of a bitch getting what was coming to him was a bit amusing.
He kept the telephone receiver between his head and his shoulder, reaching down for his shoes. “When did this happen?”
“Oh, last night. Interestingly enough, at Ken Watanabe’s horse track.”
Last night? And nobody had bothered to call him until 3:00 in the afternoon? Matsumoto. It had to be Matsumoto’s doing. He wondered if Jun was already knocking on Sho’s door, telling him what Nino suspected. He doubted it - Matsumoto wasn’t a fool.
“And the Sergeant needs me at headquarters, looking up more Akanishi stuff,” Aiba was saying. “We need someone to stay with Nakai when he wakes up, get him to talk. Jun says you’re good at talking.”
Bet he did, Nino thought bitterly. Jun was just keeping him away from Akanishi - and thus away from Sho. Fuck him. “Alright. Alright, I’ll go to St. Vincent’s. But one of your clowns better come relieve me before the night’s out.”
“You sound sick. Are you sick? Did something happen?”
Sure, Masaki. Jun nearly broke me in half over a piano and someone sent us some honeymoon photographs. Sure, something happened.
“Just sleeping off a hangover. I’ll grab a taxi.”
“Just checking.”
“Yep.” He hung the telephone up, lacing up his shoes and reaching for his hat and coat. It was always something around here.
--
St. Vincent’s was pretty low-key and quiet in mid-afternoon. Nino expected more press swarming around, but since the hospital was downtown and Nakai had gotten himself stuck way out in Arcadia, maybe none of them knew he was here.
He flashed his badge to the nurse at the desk and was led to a private room. The producer from the radio show, the Taka guy, was sitting outside the door. “Keep up the good work,” the man said grumpily.
Nino sighed, pushing the room door open. Nakai was in a bed, whole chest wrapped up and out like a light. Aiba was sitting reading a newspaper while to Nino’s surprise, Dr. Ohno was on the other side of Nakai’s bed sipping a cup of coffee.
“Finally,” Aiba said, getting to his feet. “I’m out of here.”
“So sorry my need to travel by taxi inconvenienced you, Detective,” he grumbled, taking the newspaper as Aiba handed it to him. “The hell happened here?”
Aiba put on his coat. “Well, there was some sort of event last night. Valentine’s Day something or other. Someone heard Nakai call out, but by the time they found him he was already bleeding like a pig.”
“And we’re sure it’s not our guy?”
Ohno piped up. It was kind of unsettling to see him around a body that was still breathing. “Single stab wound, not as skilled as our real killer. Our friend here’s lucky to be alive.”
Real lucky. “Any clues?”
Aiba patted him on the shoulder. “Jun’s trusting you’ll find them.”
“I’m not here to investigate any other cases Jun feels like dumping on me,” he complained. He could have Takizawa on the telephone in ten minutes. He could be on a train to DC in a few hours.
Masaki shrugged. “You tell him that then. I’m not getting involved, alright?” He left, closing the door with a decisive click.
Well, he was fucked. The last person he really wanted to talk to right now was Jun. He didn’t know what he’d do the next time they were face to face - punch him or get his slacks to his ankles. It was such a fucking mess.
Ohno was watching him as he hung his coat by the door and sat down. “You want me to get you some coffee?”
“Yeah, that’d be great.” It seemed he and the doctor were still on speaking terms. He was probably here under the guise of analyzing Nakai’s wound in relation to the existing case. But that took a minute. Why was he still here?
Jun probably asked him. Jun didn’t trust him at all now. Satoshi returned with a cup for him, and he didn’t bother with a thanks. It was hospital coffee - sludge had a better taste he imagined.
“Do they think his attacker’s going to come back to finish off the job?” he asked, and Ohno shrugged.
“Hope not. Have to be pretty stupid to make a run on a hospital bed with a cop in the room.” Ohno sipped the coffee, not even making a face. Maybe he had an iron stomach. “I was wondering…you still have that damn fool idea about the case?”
That damn fool idea being a murderous cop, he thought in irritation. Ohno was going to do his damndest to break him from it. It was just too late. “I’m weighing all my options equally.”
Ohno nodded. They sat in silence, watching Nakai’s bandaged chest rise and fall. It was almost strange for him to not be talking. How were they covering for his absence on the radio? Were they keeping this out of the press - maybe Akanishi’s case was enough to keep Nakai off the front page. Although Nino suspected that Nakai would have preferred the free publicity. He’d spin getting stabbed into some form of martyrdom - he was vain enough.
“Kazu, what did you do to get Jun so angry with you?”
“How…”
The doctor looked serious. “Why else do you think you’re here instead of working on the other case. Any rookie could sit here and wait for Nakai to wake up. What happened?”
“We disagree. On certain things.”
“Such as?”
Nosier than he looked. Well, telling the doctor about his suspicions wasn’t wise. But he and Jun disagreed on plenty. “We differ about procedure. The lieutenant’s suspended. He’s not supposed to be getting details about the case.”
“That’s true.”
“I get that the two of them have a past. I get it, really. But this is why LAPD’s such a mess of corruption. You don’t put personal relationships above procedure.” He had to stifle a laugh there. Pot, meet your friend Mister Kettle.
“You know why Matsumoto has a job right?”
“Because of Sakurai.”
“Do you know anything about Jun? Really?”
He stared Ohno down. The conversation was heading south and fast. He remembered the day at the dock, the protective way Satoshi had spoken about his colleagues. “Know he was just as irritating in the academy. Know that Sho had to step in and keep him from getting the boot.”
“And you know why Jun had problems in the academy?”
He smirked. “I don’t know. Thought his shit didn’t stink?”
Ohno looked ready to spit over Nakai’s prone body at him. “You don’t know anything. You just don’t know a damn thing.”
“Then tell me,” he answered, gritting his teeth. “You’re all locked up pretty damn tight around here. Tell me what I don’t know and stop treating me like I should know things that I can’t possibly know.”
“Jun entered the academy at eighteen years old. In 1929.”
“So?”
“That year mean anything to you, Kazunari?” Ohno leaned forward. “Few days after the stock market crashed in New York City I get a body on my slab. Obvious suicide, gunshot wound to the head. What was left of it. It was his father. Jun’s father.”
He blinked.
“He was a kid. Just out of high school, looking to protect his city and enter the police academy. His dad’s business tanks, dad kills himself. Jun found the body. You think you could find your daddy like that, Agent Ninomiya?”
All Nino could do was look down at the tile as Ohno told him. No wonder Jun was so fucked up.
“So he was in the academy. He stayed in the academy, but with his dad gone, he had to work other jobs. He was tired, and he was exhausted, and he was pissed off at the world. And he still wanted to be a cop. Lieutenant Sakurai saw that. Everyone else saw an angry kid. Sho saw somebody who wanted to do something. Somebody who wanted to save lives.”
Ohno got to his feet, tossing the paper cup in the trash at Nakai’s bedside. “So don’t talk about Jun Matsumoto like you know him. Because you don’t.”
The doctor grabbed his coat and left, and Nino had never felt so ashamed in his entire life.
--
He was slipping off to sleep again.
The hospital coffee hadn't improved after three days- three days of a Jun-imposed exile that kept Nino far away from the police station, and even further from any investigation of Sho. If it wasn't so mind-numbingly boring, it would be infuriating. Nino had never had anyone directly impede his evidence gathering so much, and the worst part was that he knew exactly why Matsumoto was doing it. It stung, like aged whiskey, and he hated it. Hated even more that now there was the niggling guilt in the back of his head, like he should have known.
He should have known that Jun had something coloring his actions and past, and that it was something Nino could almost relate to. It just made everything that much worse; Nino didn't need that. Things were already shit.
Nino was roused when there was a groan from the hospital bed, as the sun slipped down from the sky and buried itself behind the grassy hills outside the windows, half obscured by the skyline.
"Shit," Nakai said, sounding hoarse.
Nino was awake immediately, and scooted closer. "I'll say. Got yourself stabbed."
Nakai's gaze on him was wary- maybe a little confused still. But with him awake, Nino didn't have to play baby-sitter anymore. If Nakai was awake, they'd actually have somebody to go after that didn't involve him slurping sludge from a little cup and making small talk with the nursing staff.
"Watanabe's an asshole," was the answer, and Nakai's eyes were already fluttering closed again.
"What?" Nino said. "Watanabe stabbed you? You telling me the truth?"
Nakai gave a snort; even half-drugged, hopped up on medications and central lines and god knows what else, the man had the energy to sound condescending. "Who else?"
Well, when there was a crazy serial killer on the loose, the "who else"'s numbered higher than Nino wanted to think about, but this- he had what he needed. He had a witness and a crime, and for the love of all things holy, he could finally get out of that god damned hospital room.
He was going stir crazy.
And Watanabe was one of their suspects. That put the entire thing squarely in their jurisdiction.
--
The taxi dropped him off before Matsumoto and the officers arrived. The horse track was bustling; busy night, apparently, since the sun had gone down and the race track was illuminated. Nino had never understood the appeal of sitting around a track with other sweaty guys in business suits, waving odds and money around their heads as the hooves hit the dirt. But then again, he didn't much like gambling- liked his money where he knew it was safe, in his pocket.
Nino loitered near the bookie booth until Jun showed up. He didn't look happy to see Nino- maybe the surly expression had permanently fixed itself to his finely chiseled features.
"You sure about this?" he asked, as they flashed their badges at the burly men stationed at the doors and started up the stairs towards Watanabe's office. Nino hadn't been near the track since he'd been tailing Watanabe trying to find information.
"What Nakai said," Nino answered. He was irritated. Jun didn't think he could do his job- the stupid, menial, insignificant job that he'd been so smugly assigned to. "Let's just haul his ass in- he's been on our board for weeks, and now we have at least something to charge him with."
Jun didn't answer, and Nino could practically feel the frustration wafting from him. He just threw open Watanabe's office door with his badge outstretched, and Nino pulled out his gun; if nothing else, it was nice to actually have somebody to point it at, for once. Hadn't had much chance since he'd arrived in LA.
"Ken Watanabe, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Masahiro Nakai," Jun announced. He had a good commanding voice. Watanabe didn't even look surprised to see them- pissed, but not entirely shocked. He had to know that Nakai would wake up and rat him out.
The two officers rounded his desk and hauled him to his feet, pulling Watanabe's hands back behind his back and clanging the handcuffs around his wrists.
"Little bastard is still alive?" Watanabe asked, through clenched teeth.
Nino gestured towards the door. "Take him to the station. We've got questioning to do."
"You wanna know why I did it?" Watanabe continued, struggling a bit at the hold of the cuffs and the movement the cops were forcing on him. "Wanna know why I stuck the knife in his gut?"
"Not particularly," Nino answered.
But Watanabe was angry, growling like a caged dog. "He touched my little girl, you hear me? My girl! That fucking asshole thought it was a joke, thought he could do whatever he wanted-"
"Calm down and shut up," Jun sniped, shoving Watanabe back towards the door again. Nino just fought back the urge to laugh- two of their murder suspects had it out for each other and one ended up almost dead. The irony was thick, almost too much. And for what? A squabble about Nakai being unable to keep it in his damn pants?
Jesus, California was messed up.
"He deserved it!" Watanabe shouted. "He deserved it for what he did!"
"Keep this up and I'll slap you with resisting arrest," Jun demanded.
The other cops were dragging him back towards the stairs, out of his office with the window-littered walls and the view of the glowing track below. Nino lowered his hands, barrel falling. And then Watanabe twisted back again.
"You think you're so high and mighty? You think you can do anything? Just like Sakurai, is that right?"
Nino's fingers tightened around the grip. "What?"
"You know!" Watanabe shouted, and his calf hit the doorframe on the way out. "You know, you know what's going on! Even the cops got their hands dirty!"
His voice faded as the officers dragged him outside to their squad car, and Jun just stood there, staring at the entrance, at the open door, like he couldn't breathe. Nino put his pistol away, shaking his head. Great. Now everything was even more muddled; Watanabe could have been hinting at anything. Sho being the killer, Sho being involved in some underhanded operations, the envelope passed between them-
And Jun just stood there, looking like his world was completely falling apart.
"What did he mean?" Jun asked, voice very low.
"I don't know," Nino replied. Now that he knew, now that the story was in his head- he felt bad. He felt worse than bad, he felt guilty; Sakurai had kept Jun from falling apart when he was young, when everything was shit and his world was falling apart, and Nino had just told him he thought the guy killed five people.
Guilt tasted bitter, and Nino hated it, especially when it mingled with the guilt of not being able to save the victims, the anguish of remembering identifying Mrs. Phillips' body at the morgue, on the cold slab.
Jun was obviously upset, almost shaking. "What did he mean?"
"I don't know," Nino repeated, and grabbed Jun's elbow without really thinking about. Jun flinched and pulled away with a snap, and Nino sighed. "God, let's just go- you can interrogate him at the station. Then you'll get your answers."
If Watanabe was willing to keep talking with a lawyer present, which Nino couldn't be entirely sure about. But it wasn't worth mentioning; Jun followed him down the steps and past the burly bouncers once more, saying nothing.
Nino slid into the passenger seat of Jun's squad car, and waited for Jun to start the engine. He didn't. He just sat there staring at the steering wheel, expression cracking. They sat in silence for several long minutes, and finally, Nino swallowed hard, drumming his fingers against the glass of the window. "I know. Doc, he told me. About Sakurai and- what happened. With you. Your family."
Still nothing. If Jun had spent the last couple of days perfecting his inanimate object impersonation, it was time well spent.
"And I'm sorry," Nino said, glancing over at the other man. "About your father."
He thought maybe Jun would get mad- his story hadn't been Ohno's to tell. Instead, Jun looked like he was on the edge of some kind of breakdown, barely visible in the darkness, and Nino really didn't know what to do about it.
"Everything was so messed up," Jun whispered. "I didn't know how to handle it, but I had to do something. I had to, but I didn't know how, and everything just spiraled so far out of control."
"I know," Nino sighed, and he did.
He looked at Jun again, and he didn't know who moved first. They met in the middle, sloppy and desperate. Jun's mouth was hot and needy against Nino's, parting immediately, and when Nino curled his fingers around Jun's ears, he got a gasp in response that he swallowed down. He knew what Jun wanted, knew exactly what he was craving- Jun's emotions were all over the place, saturating the inside of the car as he tugged on Nino's bottom lip.
When Nino's hand fell down past his shirt, to the button of Jun's slacks, there was no resistance- just a groan against his mouth. Jun pulled away, fingers still firmly wrapped around the back of Nino's neck like a vice, but he didn't stop him, not even when Nino spit in his own palm and let his hand fall between the fabric.
Neither of them said anything. Nino heard the plea anyway, visible in Jun's gaze. There was nothing but Jun's hitching breaths, his garbled gasps, the pace of Nino's fingers wrapped around his arousal. The tightness of Jun's hand at his neck; he let it guide his own hand, like reins, directions in the shadows.
When Jun came, it was accompanied by a little moan, Nino's name like a whisper.
It took a couple of minutes after Nino had sat back on the passenger side before Jun started the ignition in the car. "Should swing by my apartment," he mumbled.
Well, at least one of them was going to be able to interrogate Watanabe with a clearer head.
--
He didn’t follow Jun into his apartment building. If he did, there’s no way they’d make it back to the station that night. There was a light rain misting outside of the car. The forecast for the next week or so wasn’t that pretty. Nothing but rain. But there was nothing that could wash away what had just happened.
It was useless to fight any longer. He was done dancing around it, done with all of the denial. There was something between him and Jun, something that wasn’t going away. Nothing that needed to be said - having Jun in his hand, utterly at his mercy had said far more than any amount of words could. But would it lead anywhere? Hard to say, especially with Nino’s permanent address being Washington D.C.
Damn it, Sakurai, he thought. Show your face. Let’s end this. So long as Sho was his main suspect, he and Jun would never see fully eye to eye. No amount of fumbling in the car was going to change that fact.
The car door opened, and Jun sat down with a rush of breath. He turned the key in the ignition, running a hand through his rain-dampened hair. “Watanabe,” he said.
“Watanabe,” Jun replied. The car remained in park, and Nino saw the slightest twitch in Jun’s lips. “Kazu…”
“What happened happened,” he answered, surprised by how calm he was. All he could hear was the way Jun had sounded as he came, the quiet, almost relieved breaths. “I don’t regret it. Hell, I don’t have time to regret it right now.”
Jun nodded. “I…don’t regret it either.”
Of course not, he thought, turning his face to the window to hide a grin. You got off.
--
Watanabe’s lawyer was already there when they arrived. “I’ve advised him not to say a word.”
Jun just laughed. “He’s said more than enough already. Any idea how many witnesses there were at the track?”
“Who trusts the LAPD?” the lawyer fired back. “Can’t even solve a silly slasher case.”
Jun’s hands were already fists, and Nino had to hold him back. “Now’s not the time.”
“You’re right, Agent Ninomiya.” They turned, seeing Chief Kimura himself hanging up his raincoat, shaking droplets off of his hat as he came up behind them. “Now’s not the time. We’re taking Mr. Watanabe down to headquarters.”
The lawyer was furious. “My client’s not going anywhere.”
“Sir,” Jun said, not shrugging Nino’s hands away. “Mr. Watanabe is a person of interest in our case here.”
“And he stabbed someone, Sergeant,” Kimura said, arching an eyebrow. That the boss himself had come all the way up to the North Hollywood station showed how much this mess was spiraling out of control. “Pretty open and shut. Let my boys downtown take care of this one.”
One of them had Kimura in his pocket. Was it Watanabe? Was it Nakai? Jun was still quaking in his anger. Aiba and Yamashita watched, eyes darting back and forth between Matsumoto and his superior. Jun had gotten written up for striking a higher up - just how high?
“Remember why you have a place here,” Kimura told Jun, his voice low and deadly serious. “Officer Yamashita, please retrieve Mr. Watanabe from your holding cell.”
Aiba gave the man a shove, and the younger patrolman went running. Kimura put his hat back on, giving Jun one last look before turning to depart. Watanabe was irritated when he was led back through, wrists shackled. “Don’t we get to chat, Jun? I really wanted to talk to you.”
“Keep your mouth shut, sir,” the lawyer begged, but Watanabe was still enraged. Nino supposed if he was a father he’d understand better.
“He’s off the wagon, Jun,” Watanabe said as Yamashita tried to escort him out the door. “My ponies were calling him. They were calling him, Jun!”
The station door shut, and Nino was more confused than he’d been in a long while. Off the wagon? Sho had been drinking from the first moment Nino had met him. That wasn’t anything surprising.
The squad room was emptied out now, just him and Jun and Aiba. “Jun, you don’t think…”
“Masaki, go look over Akanishi’s things again. Just…just go work, alright?”
Jun turned, heading for Sho’s office with defeated steps. Nino was stuck - follow Jun or help Aiba. But the corporal just shook his head and headed for the evidence room. The missing pages in Sho’s file - they knew. The both of them knew what had happened. He trailed Jun into Sakurai’s office, closing the door with a quiet click.
“Okay, want to fill me in here?”
Matsumoto had already found the bottle of scotch Sho thought he’d hidden in his desk drawer. He was filling two glasses. “About two years back, we had a case.”
“Okay.”
Jun handed him the glass, not even bothering to move his fingers. Their skin brushed, sending a wave of heat straight through him. “No way Sho could be a killer. Not after that case.”
He licked his lips, downing the burning liquid in a gulp. “What happened?”
Matsumoto was in Sho’s chair, the wood creaking as he leaned back in it. “Little girl, found face down in a ditch. Five, maybe six. Not just dead. She…she was...” Jun’s eyes were watering, and he looked away. “Every kind of violated. Every. Kind.”
Nino felt sick. He’d seen his fair share of those.
“And the kicker.” Jun laughed bitterly. “The kicker’s that the snake who did it. It was her daddy.”
They were quiet for a few minutes. Homicide was a bad place to be, no matter what end of the country you were on. He set the glass down, moving to stand behind Jun. All he could think to do was twine his fingers in Matsumoto’s hair. Felt almost right.
“We all deal in our own ways,” Jun continued. “If you haven’t noticed by now, I drink until I pass out. L.T. does that too - but he couldn’t take it. He was the one who had to go tell the little girl’s mother what her husband did. Next night he was at Watanabe’s track, pissing away his paycheck.”
Off the wagon. Not alcohol. The envelope he passed Watanabe. Sho, you bastard, he thought. Sho gambled. Sakurai was a gambling addict.
“Ran out of his own money. Started using department funds. Got himself suspended.” Well, that certainly explained the missing pages, he supposed. “But he turned himself around,” Jun swore. “He said he’d never go back. Never again.”
“Doesn’t seem to be the case,” Nino said quietly, running his fingers along Jun’s neck. There’s a lot you don’t know about your hero, Jun Matsumoto.
Jun wiped his eyes, and Nino didn’t know what to think. Everything pointed at Sho. Everything. Didn’t it? Little girls getting raped and killed by their own fathers - it was enough to throw anyone off balance. It had unhinged him enough - maybe more than the LAPD realized. Case like that would skew anyone’s sense of justice.
“No way Sho could butcher anybody. No god damned way.”
He let Jun go, heading for the door. “I’ll talk to Takizawa. See if I can get in with Watanabe.”
“You’d do that?”
He nodded. “Be in touch.”
The more layers of Sho Sakurai and Jun Matsumoto he started peeling, the more confusing it got. Jun was so damn convinced - but wasn’t it just blind devotion to the man who kept him in uniform?
How many secrets was Sho keeping? And how far would he go to keep them?
Chapter: 8/??
Fandom: Arashi
Character, Pairing(s): eff it, it's Nino/Jun
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: Violence, language, and seeeeexual situations. ;)
Summary: "I'm Kazu Ninomiya. I'm 26 years old, and I'm here to catch a murderer. Let me tell you about Los Angeles."
Note: This is your last chapter before our Japan hiatus! <3 So enjoy, and we'll see you awesome peeps when we get back.
How many days have I been here? I’m starting to wonder if my landlord in DC thinks I’m ever coming back, although the money I’m wiring back east disappears from my account like clockwork.
Oguri’s more pissed off than upset when Aiba and I drop in to tell him about Akanishi. “You know how hard it is to find a headliner in this town?”
“Not too difficult,” Aiba replies. “Always people looking for work.”
And Oguri just downs his drink with a shake of his head. “I don’t mean some girl who was a prostitute last week and a singer this week. A real headliner.”
That’s the only thing he has to say.
We leave him to drink away his pending financial losses. Five bodies, and Sakurai better show his face soon. Aiba drops me at the hotel in the mid-afternoon. The hotel bar’s out of scotch, and I run up a nice tab on some gin. Whole place is cleared out when I make my way to the keys.
Should have told Jun this morning. Should have told him before Jin Akanishi got his heart torn out.
Do I care too much about that pretty-faced asshole to turn his world upside down?
--
Tema. Poco Allegro. Diabelli's Theme Variation 2.
He was taking it way too fast, accenting all the wrong notes; his hands were flying over the ivory and turning the staccato notes into triplets, rushed and hurried together until the individual notes weren't even audible anymore. He almost cracked his wrist on the side just trying to get his hands across the keyboard fast enough to shift the key. Mrs. Phillips would have been pounding on his shoulder, shouting at him to stop, stop, can't you feel the music? Can't you feel that it wants to dance, not run?
But he wasn't thinking about Beethoven or the sheets of music he could see in his mind's eye just like they were perched on the sheet holder above the keys. Five missing hearts, five murders all connected in a way he couldn't see. The spider spinning the web was a black widow, growing stronger on the blood and energy of the victims, and he was powerless to stop the web from growing and spinning around him.
The notes were supposed to be delicate. He knew the way they were supposed to pluck out through the strings and reverberate through the piano body and he didn't care; he played the entire piece in forte, ramping the sforzandos as he pleased.
Stop that, stop that, the music is hushed- tense. The atmosphere is smoky, not deafening.
But it was deafening, like his own thoughts. The case and North Hollywood and Lieutenant Sakurai's shaky-at-best motives were swirling around like a damn windstorm. It was all deafening, and the killer was pulling all of the strings, increasing the volume. Nino's hands slid across the ivory, slipping off one of the black keys for a jarring disharmonious cord. It sounded better that way anyway- closer to mirroring his thoughts.
The door to the hotel lobby slammed.
"Ninomiya," came the voice, loud and angry and- a touch of something else coloring it. Nino let his hands fall free from the keys, abruptly stopping halfway through the theme. Maybe Beethoven was glad, somewhere, that the piece was no longer being butchered for the sake of Nino's own furious guesswork.
Jun strode up with purposeful steps and Nino spun his legs around on the bench. He didn't need this- his head was cloudy enough as it was. But he wasn't expecting an envelope to get shoved in his face. It was manila, barely bent. He reached for it and frowned when he pulled out the single sheet of paper stuck inside.
"You should know better than to ignore my warning," Nino read. The letters were concise, clearly formed; round and simple and telling him absolutely nothing, not even how old the writer was by the slant of the scrawl. "If you insist on continuing your chase, I will use what leverage I have in front of me to do so."
As he looked up at Jun, something slid out of the envelope onto the floor- another item within the package. With trembling hands, Nino reached for it. He didn't want to see; he knew, somehow, inside, what it was going to be. Maybe he'd known since that night, maybe he'd only guessed that it would be the next thing used. At night he could convince himself that it was one of the reasons he was fighting so hard to suppress the shivers of his spine and the quickening of his breathing when Matsumoto was near him.
A photograph. It was almost still warm from the developing liquids.
"What is this?" Jun demanded, all bristle and indignation as Nino stared at the picture between his fingertips. They were so close- one of Jun's hands was around Nino's wrist and his other fingers were pressed against Nino's back. And whoever had taken the photo, they had been close to, close enough to get the definition to Jun's eyelashes, half-lidded and hazy. "What warning?"
He should have known they would involve Jun. Dammit, he'd tried not to get entangled at all. "Someone's been- trying to get me off the case."
"What are you talking about?"
Nino slipped the photograph back into the envelope carefully, along with the letter- they could dust it for prints, maybe, but he knew they wouldn't find anything. Five murders in- wasn't likely that the killer was going to do something so stupid. Not this late in the game.
"The accident? The other day," he said, slowly, drawing every word out. "Someone cut my brake lines. Want me off the case."
"What?" Jun asked. There was a pause; Nino could almost hear the other man's brain working. "Why you? Why do they want you off the case? Why wasn't any of this centered around me?"
Nino flexed his fingers a few time, one knuckle after the other. His wrist was sore from where he'd banged it against the side in his haste to get through the notes of the song. And even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't keep it any longer- not with Jun standing in front of him in the middle of a stare down, like a god damned western, tumbleweeds scattering in the wind.
"I think," he began, taking a deep breath, "it's because of... what I know."
He didn't look up. "I think it's Sho."
For a very long time, he got no response. And when he finally lifted his gaze, Jun was just staring at him, with a look that Nino couldn't even hope to read. It just spurned him on to fill the silence, the void, like somehow explaining it would make it better- make the reality of the situation go away. "I've been tailing Sho for... awhile. I think he's connected to all of them. He's been gone, conveniently gone, or missing. I saw him- I saw him at Erika's grave. I think he's the killer, and I've been following him, and he knows. Someone knows."
Jun still didn't say anything; it was maddening. Nino gave a nervous trill of laughter, clenching and unclenching his left hand.
"Say something," he said.
It took another couple of seconds- long, stretched seconds- before the other man spoke. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
"No."
And then everything shifted and he hadn't seen it coming. Jun was shouting and moving towards him with barely restrained rage, fist trembling visibly. "You think it was Sho? You think it was a police officer? Are you fucking out of your mind?"
Nino pushed back against the edge of the piano keys, wood digging into his spine. "No, I-"
"You think it was the man who wants more than anyone to solve this investigation?" Jun cried, enraged, lunging closer with his finger in Nino's face, like a warning sign. "He's been my superior officer for years, he's stuck his neck out for me, and you suspect him of murder?"
"Jun," Nino tried.
"Why not me?" Jun asked, and suddenly he was very close, so close that Nino could feel his breath hot against his ear. Nino's shoulders hit the music shelf- he was arched over the damn keys, pinned, and Matsumoto was furious, sparking. "Why don't you think it was me then?"
Nino couldn't breathe. Jun's hands were suddenly around his wrists, slamming his arms back onto the keys- the chords rang out, a jumbled mess of tone and sound. And he was close, so close, pressing in against Nino's form and everything was white-hot and pitch black all at the same time.
"Don't you think I could do it?" Jun seethed. His voice had dropped to a hiss- a whisper. It was sending a flood of crazed sensations down Nino's spine. "Don't you think I could slip a knife between your ribs and cut your heart out? Watch you bleed out dry on the sidewalk, or on this very piano?"
He couldn't tell if his trained instincts were screaming at him to get free or if his body was praying for Jun's hold to keep.
"You were with me," he choked out, and it came out garbled, because Jun's weight was pressed against him, and their hips ground together, and every single one of his nerves was alight, fiery and shrieking. "You were with me every time-"
And then he couldn't bite back the groan that fell from his throat, because Jun moved, rocking their hips together again.
"So you suspect Sho, then?" Jun demanded. "That's it?"
"The handcuffs," Nino said, and everything was moving painfully slow and deliriously quick all at once. "They're police-issued. The last one was on our lawn, Jun-"
"So he did it? He's guilty because the evidence points to the station?"
Everything was spinning. His wrists were sore and stiff beneath Jun's palms. "No, it's-"
And then all of a sudden, Jun's mouth was on his, cutting him off. Jun's tongue swept in even as Nino groaned and stole the noise away. Nino's hands were free and there were fingers on his hips, pushing him up on the keys until they sounded again, angry and dissonant and all-encompassing, wrapping around him like a damn cocoon. He couldn't tell if Jun was trying to rough him up or knock him senseless; both were working. He would have angry bruises on his hips tomorrow from the way Jun's hands were grasping at them, even though the fabric.
"Jun," he managed to gasp, when Jun's mouth wrenched away from his own and found its way down his jaw. His back hit the stand harder, hard enough to knock the wind from him a bit, and he couldn't find his bearing.
"You think he did it?" Jun asked, half-muffled against Nino's neck. He was grinding up against Nino's hips, arousal hard against Nino's thigh- Christ, everything was muddled and swirling and nothing made any sense anymore. "You think it was Sho?"
Was Jun going to fuck him or continue to interrogate him? They were in the middle of the god damned hotel lobby, and Nino's weight hit the keys again, sending another mass of mis-matched tones through the room.
"Yes," Nino hissed. He grabbed for Jun's hair- if he was going to have angry welts, then Jun was as well. But one yank on the strands and Jun's weight and heat against him were gone, stepped back, and he was left aching on top of the piano keys.
Jun shook his head, looking murderous and mussed, lips swollen. "Fuck you."
Nino just laughed, decidedly mirthless. "Maybe."
Jun whirled and left, taking his cologne and his lithe fingers with him, and it took a very long time for Nino to steady his breathing again, at least enough to extradite himself from on top of the piano.
If anyone had been in the lobby, they should have chipped some bills in for the damn show.
--
He woke up in his own bed in the hotel, so he’d managed to get back at some point after Jun had left. His entire body ached - not all of it from how rough Matsumoto had been with him. There was a different sort of ache settling itself in his head. He didn’t think telling Jun about his suspicions would hurt this badly.
His clothes were rumpled, not having bothered to undress before collapsing on his mattress the night before. His mouth felt dry as cotton and disgusting. He was already forgetting what Jun had tasted like as he’d been pushed to his absolute limit. The shower spray was freezing. All the better to wash away the heat he’d felt from Jun’s closeness.
The phone rang, and he nearly stumbled over his shoes to answer it. “Morning.”
“It’s already 3:00 in the afternoon.”
He glanced at the clock on the wall. So it was. “What do you want, Masaki?”
Aiba’s voice was hushed. “Can you get over to St. Vincent’s Hospital?”
Hospital? His mind immediately worked into a frenzy. Had the killer struck again - leaving the victim alive? Or Jun - he’d been so furious the night before. What if he’d wrapped his car around a telephone pole…
“I…why?”
“It’s Nakai. Masahiro Nakai from the radio. He’s been stabbed.”
“By the killer?”
Aiba chuckled. “No. I mean, no, we don’t think so. This seems like a crime of passion, if you will.” Nino didn’t see why a man getting stabbed was that funny on principle, but the thought of that self-righteous radio son of a bitch getting what was coming to him was a bit amusing.
He kept the telephone receiver between his head and his shoulder, reaching down for his shoes. “When did this happen?”
“Oh, last night. Interestingly enough, at Ken Watanabe’s horse track.”
Last night? And nobody had bothered to call him until 3:00 in the afternoon? Matsumoto. It had to be Matsumoto’s doing. He wondered if Jun was already knocking on Sho’s door, telling him what Nino suspected. He doubted it - Matsumoto wasn’t a fool.
“And the Sergeant needs me at headquarters, looking up more Akanishi stuff,” Aiba was saying. “We need someone to stay with Nakai when he wakes up, get him to talk. Jun says you’re good at talking.”
Bet he did, Nino thought bitterly. Jun was just keeping him away from Akanishi - and thus away from Sho. Fuck him. “Alright. Alright, I’ll go to St. Vincent’s. But one of your clowns better come relieve me before the night’s out.”
“You sound sick. Are you sick? Did something happen?”
Sure, Masaki. Jun nearly broke me in half over a piano and someone sent us some honeymoon photographs. Sure, something happened.
“Just sleeping off a hangover. I’ll grab a taxi.”
“Just checking.”
“Yep.” He hung the telephone up, lacing up his shoes and reaching for his hat and coat. It was always something around here.
--
St. Vincent’s was pretty low-key and quiet in mid-afternoon. Nino expected more press swarming around, but since the hospital was downtown and Nakai had gotten himself stuck way out in Arcadia, maybe none of them knew he was here.
He flashed his badge to the nurse at the desk and was led to a private room. The producer from the radio show, the Taka guy, was sitting outside the door. “Keep up the good work,” the man said grumpily.
Nino sighed, pushing the room door open. Nakai was in a bed, whole chest wrapped up and out like a light. Aiba was sitting reading a newspaper while to Nino’s surprise, Dr. Ohno was on the other side of Nakai’s bed sipping a cup of coffee.
“Finally,” Aiba said, getting to his feet. “I’m out of here.”
“So sorry my need to travel by taxi inconvenienced you, Detective,” he grumbled, taking the newspaper as Aiba handed it to him. “The hell happened here?”
Aiba put on his coat. “Well, there was some sort of event last night. Valentine’s Day something or other. Someone heard Nakai call out, but by the time they found him he was already bleeding like a pig.”
“And we’re sure it’s not our guy?”
Ohno piped up. It was kind of unsettling to see him around a body that was still breathing. “Single stab wound, not as skilled as our real killer. Our friend here’s lucky to be alive.”
Real lucky. “Any clues?”
Aiba patted him on the shoulder. “Jun’s trusting you’ll find them.”
“I’m not here to investigate any other cases Jun feels like dumping on me,” he complained. He could have Takizawa on the telephone in ten minutes. He could be on a train to DC in a few hours.
Masaki shrugged. “You tell him that then. I’m not getting involved, alright?” He left, closing the door with a decisive click.
Well, he was fucked. The last person he really wanted to talk to right now was Jun. He didn’t know what he’d do the next time they were face to face - punch him or get his slacks to his ankles. It was such a fucking mess.
Ohno was watching him as he hung his coat by the door and sat down. “You want me to get you some coffee?”
“Yeah, that’d be great.” It seemed he and the doctor were still on speaking terms. He was probably here under the guise of analyzing Nakai’s wound in relation to the existing case. But that took a minute. Why was he still here?
Jun probably asked him. Jun didn’t trust him at all now. Satoshi returned with a cup for him, and he didn’t bother with a thanks. It was hospital coffee - sludge had a better taste he imagined.
“Do they think his attacker’s going to come back to finish off the job?” he asked, and Ohno shrugged.
“Hope not. Have to be pretty stupid to make a run on a hospital bed with a cop in the room.” Ohno sipped the coffee, not even making a face. Maybe he had an iron stomach. “I was wondering…you still have that damn fool idea about the case?”
That damn fool idea being a murderous cop, he thought in irritation. Ohno was going to do his damndest to break him from it. It was just too late. “I’m weighing all my options equally.”
Ohno nodded. They sat in silence, watching Nakai’s bandaged chest rise and fall. It was almost strange for him to not be talking. How were they covering for his absence on the radio? Were they keeping this out of the press - maybe Akanishi’s case was enough to keep Nakai off the front page. Although Nino suspected that Nakai would have preferred the free publicity. He’d spin getting stabbed into some form of martyrdom - he was vain enough.
“Kazu, what did you do to get Jun so angry with you?”
“How…”
The doctor looked serious. “Why else do you think you’re here instead of working on the other case. Any rookie could sit here and wait for Nakai to wake up. What happened?”
“We disagree. On certain things.”
“Such as?”
Nosier than he looked. Well, telling the doctor about his suspicions wasn’t wise. But he and Jun disagreed on plenty. “We differ about procedure. The lieutenant’s suspended. He’s not supposed to be getting details about the case.”
“That’s true.”
“I get that the two of them have a past. I get it, really. But this is why LAPD’s such a mess of corruption. You don’t put personal relationships above procedure.” He had to stifle a laugh there. Pot, meet your friend Mister Kettle.
“You know why Matsumoto has a job right?”
“Because of Sakurai.”
“Do you know anything about Jun? Really?”
He stared Ohno down. The conversation was heading south and fast. He remembered the day at the dock, the protective way Satoshi had spoken about his colleagues. “Know he was just as irritating in the academy. Know that Sho had to step in and keep him from getting the boot.”
“And you know why Jun had problems in the academy?”
He smirked. “I don’t know. Thought his shit didn’t stink?”
Ohno looked ready to spit over Nakai’s prone body at him. “You don’t know anything. You just don’t know a damn thing.”
“Then tell me,” he answered, gritting his teeth. “You’re all locked up pretty damn tight around here. Tell me what I don’t know and stop treating me like I should know things that I can’t possibly know.”
“Jun entered the academy at eighteen years old. In 1929.”
“So?”
“That year mean anything to you, Kazunari?” Ohno leaned forward. “Few days after the stock market crashed in New York City I get a body on my slab. Obvious suicide, gunshot wound to the head. What was left of it. It was his father. Jun’s father.”
He blinked.
“He was a kid. Just out of high school, looking to protect his city and enter the police academy. His dad’s business tanks, dad kills himself. Jun found the body. You think you could find your daddy like that, Agent Ninomiya?”
All Nino could do was look down at the tile as Ohno told him. No wonder Jun was so fucked up.
“So he was in the academy. He stayed in the academy, but with his dad gone, he had to work other jobs. He was tired, and he was exhausted, and he was pissed off at the world. And he still wanted to be a cop. Lieutenant Sakurai saw that. Everyone else saw an angry kid. Sho saw somebody who wanted to do something. Somebody who wanted to save lives.”
Ohno got to his feet, tossing the paper cup in the trash at Nakai’s bedside. “So don’t talk about Jun Matsumoto like you know him. Because you don’t.”
The doctor grabbed his coat and left, and Nino had never felt so ashamed in his entire life.
--
He was slipping off to sleep again.
The hospital coffee hadn't improved after three days- three days of a Jun-imposed exile that kept Nino far away from the police station, and even further from any investigation of Sho. If it wasn't so mind-numbingly boring, it would be infuriating. Nino had never had anyone directly impede his evidence gathering so much, and the worst part was that he knew exactly why Matsumoto was doing it. It stung, like aged whiskey, and he hated it. Hated even more that now there was the niggling guilt in the back of his head, like he should have known.
He should have known that Jun had something coloring his actions and past, and that it was something Nino could almost relate to. It just made everything that much worse; Nino didn't need that. Things were already shit.
Nino was roused when there was a groan from the hospital bed, as the sun slipped down from the sky and buried itself behind the grassy hills outside the windows, half obscured by the skyline.
"Shit," Nakai said, sounding hoarse.
Nino was awake immediately, and scooted closer. "I'll say. Got yourself stabbed."
Nakai's gaze on him was wary- maybe a little confused still. But with him awake, Nino didn't have to play baby-sitter anymore. If Nakai was awake, they'd actually have somebody to go after that didn't involve him slurping sludge from a little cup and making small talk with the nursing staff.
"Watanabe's an asshole," was the answer, and Nakai's eyes were already fluttering closed again.
"What?" Nino said. "Watanabe stabbed you? You telling me the truth?"
Nakai gave a snort; even half-drugged, hopped up on medications and central lines and god knows what else, the man had the energy to sound condescending. "Who else?"
Well, when there was a crazy serial killer on the loose, the "who else"'s numbered higher than Nino wanted to think about, but this- he had what he needed. He had a witness and a crime, and for the love of all things holy, he could finally get out of that god damned hospital room.
He was going stir crazy.
And Watanabe was one of their suspects. That put the entire thing squarely in their jurisdiction.
--
The taxi dropped him off before Matsumoto and the officers arrived. The horse track was bustling; busy night, apparently, since the sun had gone down and the race track was illuminated. Nino had never understood the appeal of sitting around a track with other sweaty guys in business suits, waving odds and money around their heads as the hooves hit the dirt. But then again, he didn't much like gambling- liked his money where he knew it was safe, in his pocket.
Nino loitered near the bookie booth until Jun showed up. He didn't look happy to see Nino- maybe the surly expression had permanently fixed itself to his finely chiseled features.
"You sure about this?" he asked, as they flashed their badges at the burly men stationed at the doors and started up the stairs towards Watanabe's office. Nino hadn't been near the track since he'd been tailing Watanabe trying to find information.
"What Nakai said," Nino answered. He was irritated. Jun didn't think he could do his job- the stupid, menial, insignificant job that he'd been so smugly assigned to. "Let's just haul his ass in- he's been on our board for weeks, and now we have at least something to charge him with."
Jun didn't answer, and Nino could practically feel the frustration wafting from him. He just threw open Watanabe's office door with his badge outstretched, and Nino pulled out his gun; if nothing else, it was nice to actually have somebody to point it at, for once. Hadn't had much chance since he'd arrived in LA.
"Ken Watanabe, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Masahiro Nakai," Jun announced. He had a good commanding voice. Watanabe didn't even look surprised to see them- pissed, but not entirely shocked. He had to know that Nakai would wake up and rat him out.
The two officers rounded his desk and hauled him to his feet, pulling Watanabe's hands back behind his back and clanging the handcuffs around his wrists.
"Little bastard is still alive?" Watanabe asked, through clenched teeth.
Nino gestured towards the door. "Take him to the station. We've got questioning to do."
"You wanna know why I did it?" Watanabe continued, struggling a bit at the hold of the cuffs and the movement the cops were forcing on him. "Wanna know why I stuck the knife in his gut?"
"Not particularly," Nino answered.
But Watanabe was angry, growling like a caged dog. "He touched my little girl, you hear me? My girl! That fucking asshole thought it was a joke, thought he could do whatever he wanted-"
"Calm down and shut up," Jun sniped, shoving Watanabe back towards the door again. Nino just fought back the urge to laugh- two of their murder suspects had it out for each other and one ended up almost dead. The irony was thick, almost too much. And for what? A squabble about Nakai being unable to keep it in his damn pants?
Jesus, California was messed up.
"He deserved it!" Watanabe shouted. "He deserved it for what he did!"
"Keep this up and I'll slap you with resisting arrest," Jun demanded.
The other cops were dragging him back towards the stairs, out of his office with the window-littered walls and the view of the glowing track below. Nino lowered his hands, barrel falling. And then Watanabe twisted back again.
"You think you're so high and mighty? You think you can do anything? Just like Sakurai, is that right?"
Nino's fingers tightened around the grip. "What?"
"You know!" Watanabe shouted, and his calf hit the doorframe on the way out. "You know, you know what's going on! Even the cops got their hands dirty!"
His voice faded as the officers dragged him outside to their squad car, and Jun just stood there, staring at the entrance, at the open door, like he couldn't breathe. Nino put his pistol away, shaking his head. Great. Now everything was even more muddled; Watanabe could have been hinting at anything. Sho being the killer, Sho being involved in some underhanded operations, the envelope passed between them-
And Jun just stood there, looking like his world was completely falling apart.
"What did he mean?" Jun asked, voice very low.
"I don't know," Nino replied. Now that he knew, now that the story was in his head- he felt bad. He felt worse than bad, he felt guilty; Sakurai had kept Jun from falling apart when he was young, when everything was shit and his world was falling apart, and Nino had just told him he thought the guy killed five people.
Guilt tasted bitter, and Nino hated it, especially when it mingled with the guilt of not being able to save the victims, the anguish of remembering identifying Mrs. Phillips' body at the morgue, on the cold slab.
Jun was obviously upset, almost shaking. "What did he mean?"
"I don't know," Nino repeated, and grabbed Jun's elbow without really thinking about. Jun flinched and pulled away with a snap, and Nino sighed. "God, let's just go- you can interrogate him at the station. Then you'll get your answers."
If Watanabe was willing to keep talking with a lawyer present, which Nino couldn't be entirely sure about. But it wasn't worth mentioning; Jun followed him down the steps and past the burly bouncers once more, saying nothing.
Nino slid into the passenger seat of Jun's squad car, and waited for Jun to start the engine. He didn't. He just sat there staring at the steering wheel, expression cracking. They sat in silence for several long minutes, and finally, Nino swallowed hard, drumming his fingers against the glass of the window. "I know. Doc, he told me. About Sakurai and- what happened. With you. Your family."
Still nothing. If Jun had spent the last couple of days perfecting his inanimate object impersonation, it was time well spent.
"And I'm sorry," Nino said, glancing over at the other man. "About your father."
He thought maybe Jun would get mad- his story hadn't been Ohno's to tell. Instead, Jun looked like he was on the edge of some kind of breakdown, barely visible in the darkness, and Nino really didn't know what to do about it.
"Everything was so messed up," Jun whispered. "I didn't know how to handle it, but I had to do something. I had to, but I didn't know how, and everything just spiraled so far out of control."
"I know," Nino sighed, and he did.
He looked at Jun again, and he didn't know who moved first. They met in the middle, sloppy and desperate. Jun's mouth was hot and needy against Nino's, parting immediately, and when Nino curled his fingers around Jun's ears, he got a gasp in response that he swallowed down. He knew what Jun wanted, knew exactly what he was craving- Jun's emotions were all over the place, saturating the inside of the car as he tugged on Nino's bottom lip.
When Nino's hand fell down past his shirt, to the button of Jun's slacks, there was no resistance- just a groan against his mouth. Jun pulled away, fingers still firmly wrapped around the back of Nino's neck like a vice, but he didn't stop him, not even when Nino spit in his own palm and let his hand fall between the fabric.
Neither of them said anything. Nino heard the plea anyway, visible in Jun's gaze. There was nothing but Jun's hitching breaths, his garbled gasps, the pace of Nino's fingers wrapped around his arousal. The tightness of Jun's hand at his neck; he let it guide his own hand, like reins, directions in the shadows.
When Jun came, it was accompanied by a little moan, Nino's name like a whisper.
It took a couple of minutes after Nino had sat back on the passenger side before Jun started the ignition in the car. "Should swing by my apartment," he mumbled.
Well, at least one of them was going to be able to interrogate Watanabe with a clearer head.
--
He didn’t follow Jun into his apartment building. If he did, there’s no way they’d make it back to the station that night. There was a light rain misting outside of the car. The forecast for the next week or so wasn’t that pretty. Nothing but rain. But there was nothing that could wash away what had just happened.
It was useless to fight any longer. He was done dancing around it, done with all of the denial. There was something between him and Jun, something that wasn’t going away. Nothing that needed to be said - having Jun in his hand, utterly at his mercy had said far more than any amount of words could. But would it lead anywhere? Hard to say, especially with Nino’s permanent address being Washington D.C.
Damn it, Sakurai, he thought. Show your face. Let’s end this. So long as Sho was his main suspect, he and Jun would never see fully eye to eye. No amount of fumbling in the car was going to change that fact.
The car door opened, and Jun sat down with a rush of breath. He turned the key in the ignition, running a hand through his rain-dampened hair. “Watanabe,” he said.
“Watanabe,” Jun replied. The car remained in park, and Nino saw the slightest twitch in Jun’s lips. “Kazu…”
“What happened happened,” he answered, surprised by how calm he was. All he could hear was the way Jun had sounded as he came, the quiet, almost relieved breaths. “I don’t regret it. Hell, I don’t have time to regret it right now.”
Jun nodded. “I…don’t regret it either.”
Of course not, he thought, turning his face to the window to hide a grin. You got off.
--
Watanabe’s lawyer was already there when they arrived. “I’ve advised him not to say a word.”
Jun just laughed. “He’s said more than enough already. Any idea how many witnesses there were at the track?”
“Who trusts the LAPD?” the lawyer fired back. “Can’t even solve a silly slasher case.”
Jun’s hands were already fists, and Nino had to hold him back. “Now’s not the time.”
“You’re right, Agent Ninomiya.” They turned, seeing Chief Kimura himself hanging up his raincoat, shaking droplets off of his hat as he came up behind them. “Now’s not the time. We’re taking Mr. Watanabe down to headquarters.”
The lawyer was furious. “My client’s not going anywhere.”
“Sir,” Jun said, not shrugging Nino’s hands away. “Mr. Watanabe is a person of interest in our case here.”
“And he stabbed someone, Sergeant,” Kimura said, arching an eyebrow. That the boss himself had come all the way up to the North Hollywood station showed how much this mess was spiraling out of control. “Pretty open and shut. Let my boys downtown take care of this one.”
One of them had Kimura in his pocket. Was it Watanabe? Was it Nakai? Jun was still quaking in his anger. Aiba and Yamashita watched, eyes darting back and forth between Matsumoto and his superior. Jun had gotten written up for striking a higher up - just how high?
“Remember why you have a place here,” Kimura told Jun, his voice low and deadly serious. “Officer Yamashita, please retrieve Mr. Watanabe from your holding cell.”
Aiba gave the man a shove, and the younger patrolman went running. Kimura put his hat back on, giving Jun one last look before turning to depart. Watanabe was irritated when he was led back through, wrists shackled. “Don’t we get to chat, Jun? I really wanted to talk to you.”
“Keep your mouth shut, sir,” the lawyer begged, but Watanabe was still enraged. Nino supposed if he was a father he’d understand better.
“He’s off the wagon, Jun,” Watanabe said as Yamashita tried to escort him out the door. “My ponies were calling him. They were calling him, Jun!”
The station door shut, and Nino was more confused than he’d been in a long while. Off the wagon? Sho had been drinking from the first moment Nino had met him. That wasn’t anything surprising.
The squad room was emptied out now, just him and Jun and Aiba. “Jun, you don’t think…”
“Masaki, go look over Akanishi’s things again. Just…just go work, alright?”
Jun turned, heading for Sho’s office with defeated steps. Nino was stuck - follow Jun or help Aiba. But the corporal just shook his head and headed for the evidence room. The missing pages in Sho’s file - they knew. The both of them knew what had happened. He trailed Jun into Sakurai’s office, closing the door with a quiet click.
“Okay, want to fill me in here?”
Matsumoto had already found the bottle of scotch Sho thought he’d hidden in his desk drawer. He was filling two glasses. “About two years back, we had a case.”
“Okay.”
Jun handed him the glass, not even bothering to move his fingers. Their skin brushed, sending a wave of heat straight through him. “No way Sho could be a killer. Not after that case.”
He licked his lips, downing the burning liquid in a gulp. “What happened?”
Matsumoto was in Sho’s chair, the wood creaking as he leaned back in it. “Little girl, found face down in a ditch. Five, maybe six. Not just dead. She…she was...” Jun’s eyes were watering, and he looked away. “Every kind of violated. Every. Kind.”
Nino felt sick. He’d seen his fair share of those.
“And the kicker.” Jun laughed bitterly. “The kicker’s that the snake who did it. It was her daddy.”
They were quiet for a few minutes. Homicide was a bad place to be, no matter what end of the country you were on. He set the glass down, moving to stand behind Jun. All he could think to do was twine his fingers in Matsumoto’s hair. Felt almost right.
“We all deal in our own ways,” Jun continued. “If you haven’t noticed by now, I drink until I pass out. L.T. does that too - but he couldn’t take it. He was the one who had to go tell the little girl’s mother what her husband did. Next night he was at Watanabe’s track, pissing away his paycheck.”
Off the wagon. Not alcohol. The envelope he passed Watanabe. Sho, you bastard, he thought. Sho gambled. Sakurai was a gambling addict.
“Ran out of his own money. Started using department funds. Got himself suspended.” Well, that certainly explained the missing pages, he supposed. “But he turned himself around,” Jun swore. “He said he’d never go back. Never again.”
“Doesn’t seem to be the case,” Nino said quietly, running his fingers along Jun’s neck. There’s a lot you don’t know about your hero, Jun Matsumoto.
Jun wiped his eyes, and Nino didn’t know what to think. Everything pointed at Sho. Everything. Didn’t it? Little girls getting raped and killed by their own fathers - it was enough to throw anyone off balance. It had unhinged him enough - maybe more than the LAPD realized. Case like that would skew anyone’s sense of justice.
“No way Sho could butcher anybody. No god damned way.”
He let Jun go, heading for the door. “I’ll talk to Takizawa. See if I can get in with Watanabe.”
“You’d do that?”
He nodded. “Be in touch.”
The more layers of Sho Sakurai and Jun Matsumoto he started peeling, the more confusing it got. Jun was so damn convinced - but wasn’t it just blind devotion to the man who kept him in uniform?
How many secrets was Sho keeping? And how far would he go to keep them?